Between Rains, page 7
Rhett’s chest thudded painfully as he dropped into his father’s warn leather chair. The earthy scent of weathered hide wafted up to him, reminding him of years gone by when he sat at the foot of this very chair while his dad powered through paperwork for the oyster farm. The smell—so familiar—solidified his determination.
He couldn’t go home. Not right now. He needed to take care of Pop. What kind of son would just leave knowing his dad was suffering mental decline? He took a deep breath, did a mental calculation in his mind. “Look, Judith. I know I promised I’d be back, but something has come up.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice turned icy. “We need you.”
“I know, I know. And I’d be there. It’s just—well, I’m facing a bit of a family emergency. It’s my father. His health.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Judith said, making a weak attempt to sound empathetic to the situation. “Obviously, that puts the company in a bind.” She paused. “Look, I don’t want to be a hard nose here. But this Markowitz deal is critical. We simply can’t afford for anything to go sideways. Delaying is not an option. I’m afraid if you can’t make that meeting, I’ll have to pull you off the account and let Phil step in.”
Rhett’s mind raced. Pull him? That was crazy!
“Judith, you can’t do that.” He launched into a campaign explaining why that would be a horrible decision when she cut him off.
“I’m sorry. There will be another deal,” she told him. “When your family issues are resolved and you can make your responsibilities here a priority.”
Ouch! There was no missing her message.
“Judith, wait—”
Click.
He pulled the phone from his ear and stared at the home screen. Did she really just hang up on him?
After everything he’d done for that company, she actually dismissed him because he couldn’t make his work his priority? How many deals had he successfully shepherded to the closing table? More than he could count. His negotiation skills had made the firm a lot of money. That silver Jaguar Judith Sandidge drove? She custom-ordered that little baby in the aftermath of him single-handedly stealing the Barger deal away from a competitor. Everyone in his firm had benefited in some manner from his efforts. How dare she treat him like some simple employee who couldn’t be counted on to close the deal? Especially when he’d proved otherwise. Anyone who knew him also knew this job had been his sole priority. She couldn’t cut him a tiny bit of slack just this once?
Even as the thoughts stormed his mind, he knew if he was in Judith’s shoes, he’d have made the same decision. He had in the past.
Just last year, Colin Treadwell fell into a deep clinical depression after losing his wife to cancer. Rhett sat opposite him and slid a generous check across the desk top. “Here’s something to carry you until you’re able to return to work. Go home, get well. And don’t worry about your job. It’ll be here waiting when you’re ready to get back at it.” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew, and likely so did Colin, that the firm waited for no one. There would be a replacement. High recruitment fees would be paid, if necessary, but they would replace him with only the very best candidate available. Sure, he’d be able to return at some point, but he’d walk back in the door with an invisible red X on his forehead—the mark that reminded everyone Colin had not powered through and brought his best to the work table.
In this very moment, Rhett wished he could go back and do right by Colin. Now, he understood. Still, Rhett wouldn’t allow anyone, including Judith, to push him into a corner. When he had his dad properly evaluated and a plan in place, he’d return to work like a Boeing 707 skidding onto Main Street. He’d land back at the office and gain attention, make a splash. No recruit could recreate the relationships he’d built, employ the savvy he’d fostered. If Judith Sandidge was shortsighted and did not recognize him for the powerhouse he’d become, there were plenty of other financial firms across the country who would pay high six-figures as a sign-on bonus alone. He wasn’t worried about it.
What Rhett was worried about right now was Pop.
He slid his finger across the face of his phone and dialed the number for Dr. Michaels. The effort took hours and just the right mixture of patience and determination, but he finally got through to the proper person and was able to make an appointment—an expedited one, at that.
No one could stop him when he put his mind to achieving a goal.
11
The following day began with a loud knock. “Rhett, dear,” his mother called from behind the closed bedroom door. “Get up, son. We need to head out soon if we don’t want to miss our scheduled launch.”
“Yeah, okay. I’m up,” he hollered back.
Rhett opened his eyelids, heavy from lack of sleep the night before. He reached and turned on the light on the bedside table, blinking several times to adjust to the brightness. Almost immediately, his conversation with Judith Sandidge entered his mind.
He was still plenty angry. He’d been mistreated, his contributions devalued. The least Judith could have done is to have extended a dab of support given everything he’d sacrificed for that company, for all the deals closed, money made. She hadn’t. Instead, he was being replaced like a pair of worn loafers that had been shoved into the back of the closet in exchange for a new pair of Bruno Magli oxfords.
Rhett lifted the warm covers and sat up. Feeling instantly chilled, he grabbed a pair of jeans draped over the footboard and slid into them, then pulled on a flannel button-down. In the bathroom, he quickly brushed his teeth and ran a warm washcloth over his face. He wouldn’t take time to shave. There was no need, really. Besides, he wasn’t going to the office. A clean-shaven chin was of no consequence when on a fishing vessel.
Downstairs, in the kitchen, he greeted his mother with a quick kiss to the cheek.
“How’d you sleep, dear?” she asked, sliding a steaming travel mug of coffee into his hand.
“Great,” he lied. He grabbed a warm, homemade maple bar from the plate on the counter. He swore his mom must never sleep.
Through the kitchen window, headlights reflected from where the lane turned off the highway. “Looks like your dad’s back,” she said, gazing out.
“Where’s Jared?” he asked, wondering if Pop should even be driving alone until he was thoroughly evaluated and received a physician’s okay.
“Your brother said he’d meet us there. Your sister, too. I think she was hoping Wes might remain home with the kids, but he wanted to fish.”
Rhett gave her a distracted nod and took a sip of the hot coffee. One thing this family had learned, Wes never passed up food or fun.
The back door opened and in strode his dad. “Hey, Rhett. You ready to get your butt kicked? Been a while since you’ve held a rod and reel in your hands. Think you’ve forgotten how it’s done?”
“Ha, that’s doubtful, old man. You foolishly shared all your tricks with me years ago. I haven’t forgotten. There’s a mammoth-sized lingcod just waiting for me out there.”
Pop’s eyes sparkled, just like in the old days when Rhett was a kid and living at home. “You want to put some money on that?” he said, making a show of drawing his wallet from his jean’s pocket.
Rhett’s mom tossed a jacket at her husband. “Wylie, get your coat on. We’ve got to git.”
Pop laughed and returned his wallet. “Fifty says the old man skunks you.”
“You’re on,” Rhett said, following his folks out the door.
The marina was located nearly dead center in the middle of Pacific Bay. Bayfront ran along its wide u-shaped edge lined with restaurants, bars, and shops filled with souvenirs. While it remained too dark at this early hour to see clearly, Rhett could still make out a few windows with decorative shutters and some shops with striped canvas awnings. In the light from the lampposts, he could see pots lining the sidewalks filled with fall chrysanthemums and bright green potato vine flowing over the edges. All familiar sights. Pacific Bay was a quaint and pretty little tourist town. Fact was, he’d missed it.
Rhett pulled Pop’s pickup to a stop and parked near the walkway that led to the bait shop where their family waited.
Leila’s boys waved. “You’re late,” little Levi announced upon their approach. He pointed his dimpled finger at the new wristwatch Uncle Rhett had brought him all the way from Chicago.
“No, they’re not late,” argued Billy, pointing to his own watch. “The big hand is up at the twelve and the short hand is at the five. So, they are right on time.” He looked to his uncle with an expectant smile. “Isn’t that right, Uncle Rhett?”
Rhett deflated the argument by rubbing the top of both boys’ heads. “The bigger question is, who wants a maple bar?” He nodded in the direction of his mother, who was carrying a clear plastic container covered by a pastel-colored lid.
“Me, me!” shouted Levi as he ran to his grandmother.
“Me, too!” called out Billy, scrambling after his brother. “I’ll eat three of ’em.”
Wes rubbed his open palms together. “Save some for me,” he said.
Rhett’s sister patted her husband’s belly lovingly, then pulled a dog-eared romance novel from her bag. She held it up like a prize. “And people wonder why I read these,” she said, laughing.
Allie appeared, standing at the edge of the boat where the boarding ramp connected to the deck. “Hey, y’all,” she called out, waving. “Is the Duvall family ready to catch some fish?”
From what Rhett had heard, when Tarver McIntosh passed on, he left everything he owned, including this fishing boat, to his niece, prompting Allie to move to Pacific Bay from Texas, bringing her young son with her. Upon arrival, Allie discovered Tarver’s house and boat left a lot to be desired. Rhett’s mom reported the gal encountered many obstacles, including a boat fire, but eventually the tenacious young woman succeeded in rebuilding her uncle’s business—a business that flourished today. Not only did Allie own the Reel Chances, but she’d been able to add two more vessels to her fishing fleet. She’d also married one of Rhett’s best friends.
Rhett brushed a kiss to her cheek as he boarded. “So, you leave Cameron in bed this morning?”
She smiled. “Someone has to do the laundry and mop our kitchen floors. He drew the unlucky stick last night.”
Rhett nodded slowly. “Ah, the fruit of marital bliss.” He gave her a warm smile before following his sister inside the small cabin. Truth was, there were times he wondered what it would be like to be settled down, to know someone waited for him at home. Someone who was not only nice to look at, but intelligent and could engage in meaningful conversation that extended past the one-night-stand chatter he’d become accustomed to as of late.
Frankly, he’d been far too busy to invest in a relationship of that nature. His family often accused him of being married to his job. He supposed it was true. Turns out, she was a fickle mate.
As soon as they’d all donned life jackets and refilled their travel mugs with fresh brew from the coffee maker located in the tiny cabin, Allie gave the signal, and Captain Paul Hardy set the fishing vessel in motion. Minutes later, the boat chugged its way past the bay bridge and into open waters.
While most everyone remained in the cabin to ward off the brisk morning chill, Rhett joined his dad at the helm. Wylie gazed out over the open sea, holding his mug of steaming coffee. “Just never gets old.”
“What’s that, Pop?” Rhett asked, leaning slightly over the rail.
“This,” he said. “The way the sea spray hits your face. The briny smell in the air. The way dawn hits the horizon with the thinnest of pale color before the sun pushes its way across the water.”
Rhett faced him, tilted his head. “Pop, when did you gain a poet’s way with words?”
For a moment, he saw the depths of certainty in his father’s eyes. “No poet,” Pop said. “I’m just a man who has learned what’s important.”
The two men didn’t say anything more for several minutes. Finally, Rhett swallowed the lump building in his throat. “Pop, I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you.”
His dad patted his back. “You were busy, son. Besides, your brother has really stepped up, just like I told you. I may not be getting any younger, but there’s still a good many years left for this set of skin and bones.”
That brought a wistful smile to Rhett’s face. His dad had always prided himself on working hard. Yet, he’d also taught his family how to have a good time, especially his boys. “Pop, do you remember that time we all went fishing to celebrate paying off the original expansion? I think I was, what, maybe twelve?”
His father nodded. “Jared was nine or so. All he did was follow you around the boat.”
Rhett rubbed his stubbled chin. “Bugged the ever-loving crap out of me. I couldn’t even bait the hook without him nosing in, wanting to see what I was doing.”
“You two fought like crazy when you were young.” His pop shook his head. “Never did quite understand it.”
“That’s because you never saw what I saw,” Rhett explained. “Especially when he got older.”
Wylie took a sip from his mug, wiped at the moisture that clung to his gray mustache. “Jared had his own ways.”
Rhett stared at the horizon, now the shade of orange sherbet, the kind he used to love as a kid. He would like to beat his point home, remind his dad of all the times Jared had failed to live up to the standards Pop had set for his family. Surely, Pop hadn’t forgotten the late-night calls from Willard Peters down at the sheriff’s office. Did Rhett need to remind him of the occasion where his youngest son had toilet-papered the large lodgepole pine in the churchyard? Pop didn’t even ground him for that antic. Yet, Rhett clearly recalled getting a speeding ticket—the only one in his entire life—and Pop coming down hard on him, lecturing how his carelessness could have hurt someone. Driving was a privilege. A privilege that would be revoked if he didn’t slow down.
Despite the inequity, Pop had also been good to him. Rhett recalled how badly he’d wanted to raise a calf and enter it in the county fair, just like his buddies Ben and Cam. At dinner that night, his mother quickly reminded them all how little spare time Rhett had after school and chores, that neither she nor his father would step in and take over when he tired of the project.
Rarely did Pop ever go against Mom in matters, especially those concerning the children. He believed in a united front. This time, Pop scraped the last of the meatloaf from his plate and thought a minute before responding. When he did, he surprised them all by saying he supported the idea.
“Like your mother indicated, this will be your responsibility, Rhett. And yours alone. No one else in the family will feed or care for the animal.”
Rhett could hardly contain his excitement. “I will—I mean, you can count on me, Mom. I won’t back off my responsibilities, Pop. You both can rely on me to follow through and not disappoint you.”
Even though the family budget was tighter back then, his dad took him to the auction and bid on a little black-and-white heifer. Over the course of months, Rhett was true to his word. He faithfully rose from his bed every morning and went out to the pen Pop built behind his mother’s gardening shed and filled the trough with hay and the bucket with water. He walked the heifer every evening after dinner, training her on the lead rope.
When it came time to load up his heifer and head to the fair, Pop surprised him again with permission to spend the night in the fair barn, all by himself. Well, alone except for all the other kids hanging out with their animals before the big day in the show ring.
“Oh, Wylie. Are you sure?” his mother had questioned. “Is he old enough?”
Pop placed his hand on her shoulder. “Age is just a number. What matters is his level of maturity.” Pop turned, looked him directly in the eyes. “You understand what I’m saying, son?”
Rhett nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes, sir. I won’t do anything you wouldn’t approve of.”
It was only about a half-hour past midnight when the situation went south. His heifer became agitated, had labored breathing. Rhett became instantly worried, especially when he noticed bloody diarrhea in the straw.
Panicked, Rhett ran to a phone and called his dad, woke him up. “Pop, she’s sick. Maybell is sick!”
His dad arrived within the hour. After confirming the animal was indeed ill, he called Dr. Art Pierard, the town vet. It didn’t take long for Dr. Pierard to come up with a diagnosis—prussic acid poisoning. While rare, some animals succumbed after eating native sudangrass.
Unfortunately, his heifer was dead by morning.
“There wasn’t anything anyone could have done, son,” Pop told him on the way home, in an attempt to console him. Rhett tried his hardest not to cry. He was far too old for that. Even so, his vision blurred with moisture.
“It’s not fair,” he claimed. “Why did my heifer have to get sick? I did everything I was asked. I took good care of her.”
His wise father stared at the road through the windshield of his old truck. “Sometimes, boy, you can do everything right, and still events don’t go as we hope. These things are often out of our hands.”
Rhett gripped the boat railing and gazed out over the water, filling with affection for the man beside him. He tried to imagine his father changed, imagined what it would be like if the things he’d read about on the internet these past days actually came to pass. How long before Pop’s decline raced forward, robbing him of precious memory. Would his dad reach a point where he wouldn’t be able to hand out that sage advice he was known for?
Rhett’s determination became as hard and unbending as the metal railing.
Not on his watch.
While he hadn’t intended to bring the subject up now, it seemed the perfect time. “Pop, I’ve made an appointment for you in Portland. I want you to be evaluated by Dr. Michaels. He’s the best.”
“Evaluated?”
“Pop, your memory. You—”
